


When I Need You, I Call Your Name

by gotyouforthat



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alexa but instead it's Josie, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Author loves The Good Place, Bellamy is a total dork, Clarke is not impressed, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Found Family, Josie can't keep her mouth shut, Post-Season/Series 06, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22745986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotyouforthat/pseuds/gotyouforthat
Summary: After entering the Anomaly on Planet Alpha together, Clarke and Bellamy awake in a luxurious holding cell, void of any memories of themselves or each other. All they know is what their mysterious captors have given them: their names, their location, and their length of stay. Quite literally forced to put the past behind them, the two must learn to live together while they begin to regather fragments of their past lives. However, this daunting task is only the beginning of a much, much larger mission.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 14
Kudos: 69





	When I Need You, I Call Your Name

**Bellamy**

A bright white light attacked Bellamy’s retinas as he forced his eyes open. In front of him lay a white screen with green blobs that began to form into legible letters as he blinked away uncontrollable moisture from his eyes. Straining, he read:

**Welcome Bellamy and Clarke. You are safe here.**

“Bellamy and Clarke,” he muttered to himself.

“Which one are you?’

Bellamy whipped his head to the right, following the source of the feminine voice and meeting a pair of vibrant and striking eyes he had never seen before. Suddenly aware of his surroundings, he looked around to find himself in an empty white room containing only the white couch he was sitting upon.

“Am I dead?” he asked, looking down at his own hands. The question was posed partially to his surroundings and the stranger beside him, but mostly to himself. He was not particularly scared of death, but he was interested in knowing what realm of reality he was existing in.

The stranger spoke again. “Hey, I need you to focus.”

He turned to her again, this time examining her entire presence. She was naturally beautiful, with large, rosy cheeks and short, wavy, blonde hair. She was dressed in a plain, white tee-shirt and khaki pants. Looking down to check his own attire, he saw he had been dressed in the same before resuming his analysis of the woman beside him. He determined that her abrasiveness and firm expression meant she was used to being in charge. He smirked, realizing that whatever adventure lay before them, dead or alive, would certainly be an interesting one.

“For the love of gods, please wipe that smug look off your face and tell me your name,” she demanded.

His name. What the hell was his name? As hard as he tried, he could not find it anywhere within his muddled mind. Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, he shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I. Both Bellamy and Clarke are traditionally boys’ names so we’re going to have to guess. We have a fifty percent chance to--”

“Your name is Clarke,” Bellamy whispered, unsure where this sudden conclusion arose from.

Clarke cocked her head, obviously hearing his assertion and clearly suspicious of it. “How are you so sure?” she questioned him.

“It’s perfectly ironic for a brave princess like yourself,” he answered, smiling in pride at his quickly fabricated logic. Clarke’s eyes rolled so far back into her head that he thought they may not return. When they did, he admitted, “frankly, I just know. It just feels right.”

“Well, good. I definitely prefer Clarke to a pretentious name like Bellamy.”

As Bellamy sought an adequate comeback to her insult, the white walls dissipated, revealing they were merely projections. What lay beyond them was the interior of a beautiful, but overwhelming library. On all sides of him hung hundreds of books waiting for him to open. He stood up from the white couch, gazing in awe at the mere height of the room and the stories it encased.

Clarke shot up and aggressively grabbed his wrist, tugging him towards the doorway on the left, but his gaze remained on the books as long as possible.

“Didn’t really peg you as the nerd type,” she muttered, as they entered what Bellamy assumed was the dining room, as it contained a large table with a wooden top and black legs. Surrounding it were six luxurious chairs of the same fashion sitting atop white tiles. Like the library, the room was windowless.

“Seems a bit overkill if you ask me,” Clarke commented, dropping Bellamy’s wrist and leaving him in his stupor as she walked towards the kitchen area on the right. She returned with a piece of paper in hand as Bellamy’s curiosity returned to overthrow his brief period of amazement.

“Well, what’s the verdict, princess?”

“The good news is we’re not dead, though that may change for you if you continue calling me that. We are travelers who just arrived on the planet Earth and we are quarantined for two months. Our anonymous captors want to observe us while they determine if we pose a threat to their people.” 

“Great. Got it. Fantastic. Do I even want to hear the bad news?” Bellamy asked rhetorically, trying to mask his emerging dread with sarcasm, but failing.

“They performed a complex medical procedure which induces partial amnesia. We will be able to regain our lost memories after two months if we choose to do so. For the time being, we are blank slates trapped in this house.”

“They performed what?” Bellamy growled as anger bubbled within him, beginning to control his thoughts. “Also who the fuck is they and why the hell do they think they can treat me like a god damn animal?” Bellamy added, his voice growing louder as he kicked over one of the dining room chairs. Breathing heavily, he looked up at Clarke who was standing calmly, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, waiting for him to conclude his childish fit.

“Did they erase your maturity too?”

He held her stare, trying to regain his breath and his composure. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, eyes locked and tension rising, until Clarke finally turned around and continued on her house tour without saying a word.

Bellamy lifted up the toppled chair, which thankfully, was not damaged, and sunk down into it. Propping his elbows onto the table, he buried his face into his hands. Two months. He was stuck in this house for two months without any knowledge of why he came to this planet. He lifted his head and started to examine his hands and arms again. They were tan, freckled, and frankly quite muscular, but what stuck out the most to him were the scars. He was littered with them, and could only imagine their frequency on the rest of his body. His mind knew nothing but his name and his location, but his body seemed to know years of pain. It seemed unlikely to him that his trip to Earth was one of leisure. Who knew if they had two months to spare?

The sound of footsteps above him lifted Bellamy’s attention to the strange woman upstairs. She was intense, self-righteous, and though he hated to admit it, a bit intimidating. Yet, she was his only clue to uncovering his true self and his purpose for coming to this planet. Sighing and conceding to the stranger, he pushed himself out of the chair and continued into the unexplored parts of his new home. To the right of the outrageously large and extravagant kitchen equipped with a marble island, he found a winding staircase. Step by step, he pondered what he would say to redeem himself from his aggression. Moreover, why was he so angry?

At the top of the stairs was a hallway lined with closed doors, but the final room at the end was open. Inside, there stood an easel holding a blank canvas accompanied by a table littered with paintbrushes. The artist walked back into frame holding up a mirror to examine her own features, revealing that she was her own subject. Bellamy was lucky the mirror hadn’t caught his figure in the background as he watched her strategically place thick black streaks of paint to begin to form an impressively accurate recreation of her profile. He couldn’t stand there forever, watching her in what seemed to be her natural state, but for some reason, he wished he could.

“Clarke,” he called as he walked through the hallway, leaning on the side of the doorway and shoving his hands in his pockets nervously as he arrived at the end.

When she spun around, he caught a glimpse of embarrassment, quickly replaced by a glower.

“Making a self-portrait, I see,” Bellamy commented.

“Yes, I guess I have healthy outlets for my emotions,” she replied, but not quite in the assertive tone he expected. “These supplies were all laid out for me when I made my way up here. Look,” she said, holding up a small piece of paper with her name.

The intimidating art supplies certainly did not belong to him, confirming that she was, indeed, the one called Clarke.

“I know you may think it’s silly that I’m painting myself,” she rambled on defensively, as if he had made some sort of swipe at her. “It’s just that I don’t really have any other resources for learning who I am aside from my physicality.”

He knew it would be satisfying to derail her logic, but in some way, he understood her. In fact, he hadn’t even looked at his own face since he had woken up.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said as he tried the hallway’s closed doors until he found a bathroom and shut the door. Fumbling his hand across the wall, he finally found the switch and flipped it upwards. The result was him staring directly back at himself for the first time. He shifted his head left and right repeatedly, trying to grasp the shape of his face. He was tan and impressively freckled, but the defining features of his face were his jet black hair, mustache, and beard. Despite being asleep for whoever knows how long, his hair looked newly clean. His captors must have groomed him while he was out, strangely easing his worries about their intentions. He stared back at his own eyes and gained some confidence to return to the woman outside. Emerging from the door with a feigned, cocky grin, he announced, “you know, I’m not so bad looking.”

Clarke looked him up and down, unamused, then looked into his eyes and replied, “I’m not bad looking either,” before returning to her painting.

Bellamy wrinkled his nose and tugged on his ear as he turned around, realizing he had failed to connect with the only person who may provide him information about his life before. He made his way down the hallway, down the staircase, and into the kitchen. Raising his eyebrows at the mere magnitude of the refrigerator, he had a bright idea. He may not know much of, well anything, right now, but one thing he did know for certain was that food was a decent peace offering. He walked towards the refrigerator, and as he opened it, he heard an artificial ring.

“Hello. My name is Josephine, but you can call me Josie!” chimed a voice from behind him. Unaware that he had another housemate, Bellamy whipped around to see a white, glass speaker on the kitchen island, lit at the top with a vibrant blue halo. He fell silent, walking towards the speaking cylinder to examine it.

“I know you have questions, Bellamy, so let me give you the gist. I am an AI, which stands for artificial intelligence if you couldn’t figure out, here to provide you with guidance during your stay. I’m basically a genius who can answer any questions you have.”

Bellamy gently slapped his hands down onto the countertop and asked, “who the hell is keeping me here and why?”

“Just because I know the answer to your question, doesn’t mean I have to answer it. Anything regarding to outside of these walls is past my pay grade.”

“Wait...you get paid?”

Giggling, the speaker replied, “it’s a figure of speech, darling. Let’s just cut to the chase where you ask me what meal you’re going to cook the cute blonde upstairs.”

“How did you know--”

“I said I was a genius, didn’t I? Now let’s make some risotto. In the cabinet behind you, you’ll find chicken broth, rice, and olive oil.”

Curious to see the validity of Josie’s statement, Bellamy swung around and opened the cabinet door behind him. To no surprise, he saw only the ingredients his strange new assistant had described. Grabbing them and placing them onto the counter, he scoffed, “okay, genius, what next?”

“Look at us becoming besties in no time.”

“That is not what I--”

“Go to the fridge and grab mushrooms, shallots, and white wine.”

Sighing in defeat, Bellamy opened the enormously large refrigerator door to find, yet again, the items his new companion had described. Tucking the bottle of wine under his arm and taking the container of mushrooms and bag of shallots in each hand, he stated, “I may not know as much as you, but I think I can take it from here.”

“I’ll be here when you mess up. Would you like some music as you cook?”

“Anything to shut you up,” Bellamy muttered under his breath as he searched for an adequate pot for the meal. The chords of a piano and the ticking of a clock began emanating from Josie’s source.

_What do you mean?_

_When you nod your head yes, but you wanna say no._

“The hell is this?” Bellamy yelled over the bubbly and frankly, annoying song coming from the speaker. The noise transformed into Josie’s guttural laugh that Bellamy may have assigned to an evil villain had it not been so high pitched.

“Just wanted to see how long you lasted,” Josie teased, pausing for his response. When he didn’t oblige, she continued, “fine, here’s something more your style.” The sound of a shaker filled the room followed by a simple guitar riff.

_Well the truth, it hurts to say_

_I’m gonna pack up my bags and I’m gonna go away,_

_I’m gonna split, I can’t stand it_

_I’m gonna give it up and quit and ain’t never coming back_

Against his will, the soulful voice began to soothe the tension in Bellamy’s shoulders. Taking a deep breath in, he let restlessness surrender to his situation as he lit the stove. The light at the end of his tunnel seemed much duller than the burners in front of him, but he figured a little music wouldn’t make the light any dimmer.

\-------------------

**Clarke**

Dancing her brush across the canvas, Clarke felt empty. The man downstairs seemed to contain a whirlwind of emotions while she experienced none. She paused her motions for a moment to focus her hearing towards downstairs. She heard the outline of Bellamy’s deep and unnecessarily growling voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Was her only companion for the next two months having a conversation with himself?

Frowning, she placed the paintbrush in her hand into the jar of muddy water on the table next to the easel. Brushing back the loose hairs from her messy half bun, she realized it was time to give the examination of her face a rest. Retreating to the hallway, she pushed open the closed doors on her left, finding a closet, a study, and then, finally, a bedroom. The sheer size of the room gave Clarke the impression that it was meant to be the master, but instead of a single bed, it housed two twin beds with impressively crisp, white sheets and an overabundance of decorative pillows. Her master theory was confirmed as she reached the bathroom, a vast and lofty space with marbled floors, two sinks, a glass-encased shower, and a standing bathtub. Stepping lightly inside, she felt warmth from the ground below her.

“Heated floors?” she gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth as she let out a small giggle. Her mouth gave way to a smile, the first one she had allowed on her face since waking up in this strange place. She tiptoed further into her new discovery and slid back the glass door to the shower. Cocking her head and widening her eyes, she stared at the multitude of knobs on the shower head’s wall. Intimidated by the complexity of the thing, she headed towards the more familiar bathtub and began to draw herself a bath.

As she waited for the water to rise, she shifted in her clothing, noticing its uncomfortable limitations in movement. Whoever her stylist was had obviously not accounted for the breadth of her shoulders and the size of her surprisingly muscular arms. Her mind briefly drifted to the possible reasons for the fitness of her body but left those thoughts behind to search for new clothes in the bedroom. In between the two beds were a pair of white dressers, each containing a limited array of identical outfits. Comparing the two, she determined the left dresser with the smaller clothing was meant for her and grabbed a silky black collared top matched with silky black pants. She returned to the side of the bathtub just in time to turn off the faucet.

As she took off her clothes, she examined her body in the large mirrors in front of the sinks. She turned around and craned her neck backwards to find an odd scar at the base of her neck. Impulsively, she lifted a hand to feel its ridges and shook her head, knowing that finding the reason behind this mark was best left for another time. Shaking off her curiosity, she stepped into the warm water and let out a sigh of relief as she sunk down. The thoughts in her head made way for a soft melody that she hadn’t noticed before seeping through the warm floor beneath her.

_All you do is treat me cold_

_Ain’t gonna take it no more, gonna walk out the door_

_Lover, lover, lover_

_You don’t treat me no good no more_

The tune was repetitive and easy to pick up on so she began to hum it lightly as she picked up the bar of soap on the ledge beside her. As she began to scrub herself clean, she began to feel her eyes droop lower and lower. Returning the bar to its place, she let her head drift back into the curve of the tub. Her eyes succumbed to the gravity of her tiredness, as she drifted into a much needed, and much deserved, sleep.

She awoke to a strong knock on the closed, and hopefully locked, bathroom door.

“Um, hey Clarke. If you’re in there, I made us some dinner. I thought we could both use some food.”

Scrambling out of the bathtub, she took a second to glance at her shriveled fingertips. How long had she been in there?

“Uh, I’ll be right out,” she yelled back to the stranger behind the door.

“So, um, is this the only bedroom?”

Shaking her head in frustration as she patted herself dry with the nearest towel, she replied, “can we maybe have this conversation once I’m dressed and not behind a closed bathroom door?”

“Oh. Yeah, of course.”

Clarke could hear the slight embarrassment in his voice and the corners of her lips curved a tiny bit upwards from the effect her comment had on him. Slipping into her new, and much more comfortable, outfit, she exited the bathroom holding her old one into the bedroom where Bellamy was still standing, waiting for her. Without meeting his eyes, she brushed his shoulder as she made her way to the laundry hamper and discarded her clothes. She knew he had turned around to watch her movement, but she kept her back to him as she said flatly, “the dresser on the right is yours.”

Expecting some sort of acknowledgement, she was met with silence. She turned around to find him staring at her with an intent she could not place. Was it confusion? Not quite. Curiosity? Bewilderment, maybe? Before she could pinpoint it, he quickly tossed his head to the side, jostling his hair and then combing it through with his hand.

“Let’s eat before the risotto gets cold,” he said, looking down at the ground and only meeting her eyes at the last possible chance he could before finishing his statement.

“Okay, after you.”

They sat at opposite ends of the table with white bowls before them. Bellamy scooped large forkfuls of his dish into his mouth while Clarke pushed the grains of rice back and forth, eyes focused downward.

“So how did you know how to cook this, um” she paused for a moment, searching for the word Bellamy had used earlier. “Risotto,” she said slowly, cautious to get her prononciation right, slightly worried that he would tease her if she didn’t. She lifted her head up to him, encouraging an answer. As she did so, he quickly grabbed a napkin and wiped his face.

“I guess you haven’t met our third housemate yet,” he replied, taking a deep breath in as if frustrated.

“Hi, Clarke,” an unfamiliar woman’s voice chimed from the kitchen as she heard Bellamy mutter something along the lines of “here she goes again.” Confused, Clarke searched the kitchen until she found the source: a small cylindrical speaker.

“I’ve already given Bellamy my whole spiel but I’m here to help you out during your time here. Cooking...entertainment...you name it, Clarke. Just between us two girls, I kinda already like you better than him.”

Though she tried to suppress it, Clarke couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, leaving a smile on her face as she mused at both the fact a speaker was attempting to have a conversation with her and that it already liked her better.

“Look at that, the princess does smile,” Bellamy quipped, immediately snapping Clarke’s face back into its neutral and stern form.

“Dude, not cool!” Josie reprimanded him from across the room.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I won’t call you that anymore. Will you please just try some of my food?” Bellamy lightly begged, his eyebrows raising and his lip slightly pouting, though Clarke noticed his expression seemed to be out of habit and not some purposeful ploy. She scooped a small amount of the unfamiliar dish onto her fork and into her mouth. Pausing to let the flavor seep into her mouth and gave a small nod of approval, careful not to give this strange man too much satisfaction. But damn, was it good.

They ate the rest of their dinner in silence, Bellamy finishing his entire portion and Clarke leaving half in her bowl. When the silence became too unbearable for her, she stood and announced, “I’ll clean the dishes, you head to bed.” She intended for it to come across as a peace offering, but judging by the look on Bellamy’s face, she knew it had come across as more of a command. Nodding once, he stood up from his chair and made his way to the staircase, leaving Clarke slightly remorseful for her tone. Sighing, she gathered the dishes and took them to the kitchen sink where she began scrubbing them.

“Um, you know that’s what dishwashers are for?”

She turned around to face the trill voice that she could now identify. Wiping a strand of hair from her face with the heel of her palm, she spluttered, “oh, um, right.” As she began to relocate the dirty dishes, Josie began to talk again, this time in a hushed whisper.

“Just so you know, there’s only one bedroom, which you’ve probably discovered. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but there’s a reason the two of you are here together.”

Clarke’s entire body froze except for her eyes that widened at the word “together.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, spinning around again, as if she could intimidate the faceless voice on her kitchen counter.

“Oops, I’ve said too much! Goodnight babe!” Josie exclaimed quickly before the blue ring around the top of her encasing faded away. Clarke dove for the speaker, fumbling around for some switch to bring the voice back to life but there was none to be found.

“No, no, NO, NO!” Clarke screamed before lifting the speaker above her head and smashing it down onto the tile floor. When the white cloud of rage that clouded her eyes dissipated, she was left staring down of shards of glass and strewn wires. Sobs erupted from her body as she sank down onto the tile floor, which was befittingly cold unlike her safe haven upstairs. She tucked her head between her body and her knees and wrapped her arms around her calves as tight as she possibly could. She had no idea how long she stayed in that position, but when she finally rose, she felt her own body carry herself upstairs, as if it was programmed to do so without her command.

The bedroom lights were on, and Bellamy was in bed on the right with his eyes staring up at the ceiling and his hands clasped across his chest. When he didn’t acknowledge her entrance, Clarke began to believe she could make it into her own bed without a remark from him and headed towards the left side of the room.

“Rough night for you too, huh?”

“So much for trying to be optimistic,” Clarke thought silently as she pulled back her sheets, refusing to engage.

“I mean everything -- this house, the memory wipe, the fucking AI -- it’s all so surreal.”

“I already have enough thoughts in my brain right now. I don’t need to hear yours too,” she snapped as she slotted herself under the covers. She dramatically turned on her side away from Bellamy, feigning her intention to sleep. But no amount of exhaustion could keep Clarke’s mind from replaying Josie’s words over and over in her head. The man behind her was not a stranger, but, as it seemed, far from it.

\-------------------

Bellamy kept his eyes wide open, wondering how preoccupied Clarke’s mind must be. The overly cautious woman had clearly wanted him to believe she was asleep, but she hadn’t even bothered to turn off the lights.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading the first chapter of my first fanfiction! I’ve got A LOT of plot twists coming your way in the upcoming chapters. Without giving too much away, while this is first and foremost a Bellarke slow burn, we will be seeing other storylines containing our other much beloved characters (Madi, Octavia, and Diyoza to name a few). I will update tags and ratings as we progress, but I am making a vow to you now that there will in fact be some classy smut, no matter how daunting this task appears to me now. Additionally, as I am a non-binary author, I am totally committed working in a non-binary character into this story soon. Comments, questions, and concerns are much appreciated!!
> 
> If you're curious what song Bellamy is listening to, it's You Don't Treat Me No Good by Sonia Dada. The title is also from a song, but we will cross that bridge when we get there ;)


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